


and the story’s brand new but i can take it from here

by brooklynstevies



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Nicknames, Sharing a Bed, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-20 20:34:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30010584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brooklynstevies/pseuds/brooklynstevies
Summary: natasha learns to love herself and let herself be loved.
Relationships: Sharon Carter/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 7
Kudos: 14





	1. CHAPTER ONE

The first time Natasha Romanoff _truly_ met Sharon Carter, it was Tuesday at 9:13 in the morning. 

Natasha was unlocking her door, ready to lay down and soothe some of her burns in peace, when a bottle of aloe was held out in front of her. 

She drew back a little, still on edge from adrenaline, and turned towards the person attached to the aloe. 

“Looks like you need it, huh, Romanoff?” 

Natasha blinked. “Carter?” The redhead had been paired with the other woman for a couple of missions, but other than that, Natasha had had no interaction with her. Acquaintances. That’s all they were. 

The other agent tipped her head back and laughed, Natasha’s eyes trailing along the long line of her neck. She took in the other woman—the way that she moved, her dress, how she seemed at ease in a way that Natasha could not. 

Her eyes slid to the boxes behind Carter. “Are you—”

“Moving in,” Carter finished Natasha’s sentence. She smiled again. “Guess we’re going to be neighbors.”

Natasha’s eyebrows drew together. “And SHIELD?” 

“SHIELD gave me the recommendation, said it was a good building.” Carter drew closer, putting the aloe into Natasha’s hands and closing her fingers around the bottle. They were face to face now, and Natasha tilted her head to look up at the blonde. 

“Here,” Carter continued, taking the key from Natasha’s other hand and swiftly opening her door. “I think you probably want to rest.”

Natasha didn’t say anything, still a little shaken. Her feet moved of their own accord, shuffling into the hallway of her apartment. 

Carter retrieved the key from the lock and placed it back in Natasha’s hand. “And hey,” she said, “if we’re going to be neighbors, you can call me Sharon.”

-

But Sharon confused Natasha. She continued to confuse Natasha. It wasn’t just the aloe, but all the things that came after it as well.

The cookies beside her door one day, and the candle loaned to her when New York City went through its second blackout in as many months.

So Natasha was also desperate. She wanted to give something back, but _what?_

Sharon had loaned her so many things by that point that it would be futile to try to respond to every single item, so the redhead had to pick something good. 

Natasha had started to dread opening the door. And now it had culminated into something else entirely. She was just getting ready to go for a run one day, headphones tucked in one ear, when she bumped into Sharon yet again.

Natasha caught Sharon’s elbow, steadying her before she could fall to the ground. 

The other woman let out a surprised yelp and looked up to offer her thanks. A slight smile, cheeks dimpling, broke out on Sharon’s face as she realized who it was. 

“Hey!” Sharon straightened up, fumbling for hold on the grocery bags she had with her. “Didn’t expect to see you here—you’re like a ghost.”

“Well—” Natasha couldn’t think of a reply. It had been a long time since she’d interacted with another person this much. Besides Clint, but he didn’t count. Her hesitance didn’t seem to matter much, given that Sharon kept talking. 

“Anyway, now that you’re here—sorry, can you hold this,” the blonde asked, shifting one paper bag over to Natasha, “—thanks, but now that you’re here, do you want to spend some time together?”

Natasha bit her tongue. “Huh?” 

“Well,” Sharon moved past her, turning around so she could still face Natasha, “we haven’t been proper neighbors for a long time. You know—sitting down for a proper meal. Me getting to know you. That sort of thing.”

Natasha stopped, a bit stunned. “Sharon—we don’t—we’re in New York.”

“And?” Sharon questioned. 

Natasha cocked her head to the right, confused. “Anonymity? Me passing by you, you passing by me—we don’t need to know each other.”

“But we already know each other.”

Natasha opened her mouth, stumped at the statement, and promptly shut it again. Sharon _was_ right. They knew each other, but it still didn’t mean that Natasha was _comfortable_ with it. It somehow violated the sanctity of New York City. She looked back at the blonde. 

“Sharon? What do you want from me? Really?”

It wasn’t a plea. Not really. It was an end to the thousands of ways that Natasha thought of while trying to figure out how to reciprocate. _Nobody did things out of the kindness of their hearts._ Natasha had enough proof of that.

“What do you mean?” Sharon’s voice was soft. 

Natasha takes one hand through her hair, shifting the grocery bag to rest against her hip. “I mean—the aloe, the candles, the, the being nice. What do you want?”

The blonde paused, dark brown eyes focusing on Natasha. “What makes you think that I want something? Can’t I just be your friend?”

“Oh.” Natasha stepped back, her shoulders drawing up. “Oh.”

Sharon paused; Natasha could see her reevaluating something. “Look, don’t think about it too much. Maybe just a little. And hey, I’m always next door.”

Sharon reached forward then, plucking the grocery bag from Natasha’s arms, and backed into her apartment. 

Natasha stood there for a minute, unable to move. Her mind reeled, put off-kilter by a simple gesture of kindness. 

Even after all this, Sharon _still_ wasn’t any less confusing.

-

And Natasha didn’t think much of it, considering that that was the last time that she saw Sharon for quite some time, unintentionally. They had been on separate assignments so far, and when Natasha would drag herself home, Sharon would always seem to be gone.

It was months later when Natasha again stumbled up the three flights of stairs to her apartment. Natasha was tired, like always, dark bags under her eyes. It gave her a haunted look, if the way people had been avoiding her on the street was any indication. 

She leaned heavily against the wall, eyes closing for a minute. She was starting to think it’d be better just to rest her eyes, just for a minute. If she could only—

Natasha woke to sunlight filtering in from the window opposite her. She blinked, trying to adjust to the brightness. Something was different. For one, she was laying on the ground, a pillow underneath her head. 

A blanket—soft and just the right amount of weight—was tucked around her shoulders. Natasha took a moment, bringing the blanket up to her face and burrowing down into it. 

She didn’t want to get up. 

A few minutes passed before she heard banging around on the floor above her. She didn’t want the other tenants to question why she was on the floor; Natasha knew it would invite other questions, and it was best to avoid anything that might put her in the spotlight. She was a good liar, but she didn’t want to have to make up anything that she didn’t have to. Especially when this was the closest experience to real life that she’d had. 

While she wanted to bask in the warmth a while longer, she sat up and gathered the blanket and pillow in her arms. 

Only one other apartment on this floor was occupied. Sharon.

The redhead debated, looking briefly at the other door and then down at borrowed items. Better to just return it now. 

So there she was, Natasha shifting as Sharon opened the door. The other woman stood there, relaxed and comfortable. 

“Hi,” Natasha exhaled. 

Sharon smiled, lips twisting upwards and showing her dimples. “Hi yourself.”

Natasha stretched out her hands, arms full of the borrowed blanket and pillow. “I—um, I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Sharon tilted her head slightly, eyes questioning. 

For that, Natasha had no real answer. Sharon’s gaze seemed to see into her; Natasha quickly looked away, shifting her gaze to the doorway. It was both scary and exhilarating how much she cared what this other woman thought. Natasha had never experienced such kindness before. 

“I just mean—” Natasha started, “I just mean that you didn’t have to do that. Give me the blanket. I was doing fine where I was.”

Sharon bit her lip and looked down, a smile playing around the corners of her lips. “I’m not sure passing out on the floor constitutes fine.” A beat of silence. Sharon tried to catch Natasha’s eyes. “But are you okay? I mean, are far as okay seems to be for you?”

Natasha exhaled once again. “I’m okay.” 

Something in the other woman’s gaze seemed to catch Natasha off guard--the softness in her dark brown eyes, alongside the questioning intent. The moment stretched out, sprawling between them until Natasha cleared her throat, uncomfortable. 

She moved a step back then, ready to turn away and run. 

“Hey wait—” Sharon called, stretching out one hand to catch Natasha’s arm before stopping herself. “Have breakfast with me. Please.”

Natasha turned back, her body halfway between deciding to leave or deciding to stay.

Sharon continued, “Just a half an hour. I promise. Nothing more. As friends.”

After a moment’s contemplation, Natasha turned back around and followed Sharon into her apartment. It looked more lived-in than the redhead’s did, photos of family lining the walls and various boxes unpacked. Natasha spied a guitar in the corner. 

“Over here!” Sharon gestured to the island at the center of the kitchen, two plates full of eggs and fresh fruit. 

It seemed like the other woman had _anticipated_ Natasha coming over.

“Dig in. I can hear your stomach from across the room.”

Natasha moved to sit down. “Do you find it weird?” she asked, “That Agent Carter is gracing your walls?”

Sharon huffed out a laugh, moving about and coming back to the kitchen island only to take up slicing a mango. “Not Agent Carter. Aunt Peggy. She and Uncle Gabe come visit sometimes.”  
She made to slice the mango skin off when Natasha shook her head. 

“What?” asked Sharon. 

“That’s not how you do it.” Natasha hopped off the chair, reaching for the knife. “Can I?”

She covered Sharon’s hand with her own, guiding her in making perpendicular cuts. “Like this.”

Natasha glanced up, looking for Sharon’s reaction. The blonde’s eyebrows scrunched together, more concentrated than confused. 

Setting down the knife, Natasha guided Sharon in pressing the underside of the mango upwards until the cuts created individual cubes. “It’s called porcupining. Easier to eat this way.”

Natasha offered the mango to Sharon, still holding it. “Do you want to try it now?”

Hands still covered by Natasha’s own, Sharon leant down to take a bite. Time seemed slow. Natasha watched the top of the blonde’s head, a halo of tight curls. She could feel Sharon’s lip slightly graze her fingertips. 

Sharon hummed around the mouthful of mango. “It’s good.”

“Yeah?” Natasha’s cheeks were tinged red. She hoped it wasn’t conspicuous. “Good?”

Oh, she had made a mistake. She had made a very big mistake. Natasha swallowed hard, suddenly feeling like the room had been lit on fire. 

The other woman drew back and nodded slightly. “Yep. Definitely improved my day.” She slipped her fingers out from under Natasha’s to swipe at the juice on her bottom lip. 

“Are you okay?” Sharon leaned in closer, the question etched in her eyes as well. The blonde pointed at Natasha’s cheeks. “You look a bit flushed.”

Natasha quickly looked at the ceiling, wondering if lightning would strike at that moment.

“It’s sunburn,” she said, clearing her throat, “Nothing to worry about.” The mango was still in her hands. Natasha shoved it back to Sharon. “Anyway, breakfast?”  


-

  
Natasha leaned back, full in a way that she had not been in a long time. Sharon was still bent over her plate, finishing up.

It gave the redhead time to look around the apartment. Since Sharon had moved in, Natasha had only fleeting glimpses of the blonde. Maybe Sharon was right—this was a chance to get to know each other.

Sharon’s apartment was clean lines and bright, sun streaming in from several windows. It was a contrast to Natasha’s, where the tones were muted and her walls relatively bare. The redhead didn’t see any value in keeping personal belongings when it just meant that she would have to move again. 

But Sharon’s apartment felt like a home. It made Natasha feel things she didn’t want to look too hard at. 

Something in the corner caught Natasha’s eye. She slipped off the kitchen seat, walking over to tentatively reach out and touch it. 

Whipping around, she asked, “Can you play?” 

The guitar was the first thing Natasha learned about when she came here—her childhood filled instead with learning how to kill. There was something in the way that you could create when you had a guitar, the way that the music sounded. The way that there was something in her hands that she didn’t have to break. 

Natasha wanted to learn, but she’s never gotten the chance. 

Sharon looked like she was caught in the headlights, eyes wide. A quick swallow and then a quiet, “Sure. Let me just—”

The blonde jumped off the chair, brushing her hands against her jeans. A quick inhale to steady herself—she was always nervous performing in front of people.

“I’m going to do something simple, that all right with you?”

Natasha just nodded, almost content with whatever. She remembered sneaking into the headmistress’ office at night, just barely running her hands over the box of records, then the record player. They weren’t allowed music as a distraction; it was too easy of a way to get killed. 

Natasha dragged her thoughts back to the present, watching as Sharon started humming. 

“It’s Fast Car by Tracy Chapman.” 

Sharon’s voice was melodic. Natasha couldn’t look away. When Sharon finished, she looked over at Natasha, suddenly shy. 

“What do you think?” 

Natasha breathed out a sigh, utterly rapt, and said, “Beautiful.” And in that moment, she was not just talking about the song.


	2. INTERLUDE

Natasha spent more and more time at Sharon’s apartment. It was easy to, with the way that Sharon made her feel. It was—she didn’t know how to describe the feelings. But she wanted more. To feel like she was home. 

But it made her feel weak. The urge to push it away, like anything that made her compromised, grew greater each day. 

She’d wake up and stare at herself in the mirror, the low bridge of her nose, her monolid eyes. There was something different about her, and that was scary. That she wanted, and wanted, and wanted—it was like feeding a black hole. 

And the more that she drew closer to Sharon, the more that she revealed herself, flayed open like a raw nerve. 

There were things in her past, dark things, that she couldn’t talk about. That were better off hidden. She had spent so long sectioning off her life in chunks—one identity here, one identity there. Sometimes it felt like she no longer remembered who she was, only what she molded herself into. 

Sharon was starting to ask questions about her past. Natasha didn’t know how to answer them, either because she didn’t know or because she was afraid that if she told Sharon, she’d leave. Which is why, when the blonde called her by her other name, it felt like an instant shock to her system.

-

“Natalia.”

Natasha stiffened. The voice wasn’t loud, but it shook Natasha all the same. She hadn’t heard that name in a long while. 

“No. Not anymore.” 

She dared not look at Sharon, not trusting her instincts in keeping her composure. This friendship was new and tentative in a way that the redhead didn’t dare disturb. 

“But you were. Once. Natalia Romonova. The Slavic Shadow.”

Natasha leaned forward, forehead resting against the solid wood of the doorway. Memories, unbidden, had started to come back. The cold. The pain. The soft crying of another girl next to her as she tried to keep both of them warm, only to fail and see frostbitten fingers the next morning. 

The redhead pressed her eyes shut in a desperate attempt to shut out the images. “You don’t understand, Sharon. I can’t be the person again.”

She turned around, then, to face the other woman. Sharon’s face was so open, accepting. And asking this question, who she was, would destroy this tenuous connection between the two of them.

“Sharon, what they made me do—I thought I was doing the right thing, but I wasn’t. It’s the reason I decided to join SHIELD. You don’t want me to talk about this, I promise you.”

_How much of your hands are covered in blood?_ Something inside of Natasha couldn’t escape the constant litany, too burdened by past memories. She had to move forward. It was the only way. 

Her hands, her body were weapons. Natasha didn’t deserve an easy ending, let alone to have someone be with her. Understand her. 

_How bloody?_ The voice inside of her asked. _Who would want you when they see you for who you truly are?_

“And the rumors? Of what you can do?” Sharon’s voice wavered, an almost uncertain tone permeating the questions. 

Natasha smiled, half rueful and half sad. “Haven’t you already figured it out Sharon? You’ve already done the research. Even figured out my name.”

There was a slight bitterness to Natasha’s voice. Even through all this, the redhead was still dragging her past behind her. 

Sharon’s eyes were wide, shock and hurt evident. “I didn’t mean—”

Natasha cut her off. “Who I am stays in the past, Sharon. And that makes me an asset. Makes me good at what I do. And there’s a reason it’s kept that way.” The redhead paused. “Keeping your distance, well—it might be best.”

The redhead brushed past her neighbor. 

It _was_ better this way, maybe. At least she wouldn’t hurt anyone anymore. She had tried so hard. Her body was a weapon, ready to be directed at whatever her target was. And how pitiful she was for trying to imagine a different future.


	3. CHAPTER TWO

The mission was supposedly a success. If it were up to Natasha, she would have called it bloody and too close a call. What they just fought their way out of, it was horrifying. 

In this moment though, all she could hear were the subtle whine of jet engines around her. The silence on the plane was almost stifling, if not for the fact that the silence was because her team was too tired to talk. Natasha stared at the people sitting across her—Williams, Xi, Clint. She bet that her face looked just as haggard as theirs. Williams and Xi were already nodding off, chins tucked down against their chests. Wishing she could do the same, Natasha just huffed, trying to breathe deeply despite the hitch in her side.

She caught Clint’s eye, both of them staring at each other before a shit-eating grin started to plaster itself onto his face. Natasha narrowed her eyes. Maybe it was an American thing, giving out grins that made the recipient slightly unsettled. 

He jerked his head slightly to the right. Natasha turned, expecting something else than what she found. 

Sharon was swaying in her seat, tiredness apparent by the set of her shoulders. Natasha could see her lips moving in the half-light. The mumbles carried, Natasha just making out the off-key tones of Firework. 

Natasha smiled despite herself. It was such a human thing to do—more accurately, it was such a Sharon thing to do. Sharon’s head dipped lower and lower. Natasha thought the other agent might just go to sleep, but at the last second, she startled and almost fell out of her seat. 

A low whine escaped from Sharon, as if she was hurt. Natasha stretched a hand out, immediately wanting to offer comfort. An involuntary action. 

It shocked her enough that she pulled back, chastising herself in the process. Sharon couldn't have wanted that type of comfort, especially from someone like her. Especially after she refused to talk to Sharon. Especially when she had withdrawn first.

She still struggled with what she was, what they made her into—to have something tangible, to call it what it was, it terrified Natasha. It was something that could be ripped away, and after so many years, she didn’t deserve what she felt. She couldn’t breathe for the ache of it. But it didn’t make the longing right now any less painful. 

Natasha pressed her fingernails into her palm, making four red crescent moons. 

Sharon swayed in her seat once again. It looked uncomfortable, the position she was in. Natasha was scared that the blonde would fall over. Wasn’t it Natasha’s duty, then, to try and make sure nothing happened, right? If only to justify rest. What would happen if Sharon couldn’t sleep and Natasha was watching her because she was scared about Sharon injuring herself? 

It seemed like a good enough reason. Natasha could live with that, could make excuses for it. 

Natasha looked across the row to find Clint slumped over in his seat, one cheek smooshed up against Williams’ shoulder.

It was just her and Sharon now. Nobody else as witness. 

Natasha angled closer to Sharon, hesitant but now determined. She reached out, placing one hand on Sharon’s shoulder. 

“Sharon.” The whisper passed between them, low enough that only Sharon could hear. 

The blonde turned to her, blinking slowly. Her eyes barely stayed open, although the line of her body was tense. Natasha could understand that—the need to stay alert while being dead tired on your feet. 

“Sharon, come here.” She tugged on Sharon’s jacket. The other woman was tired enough that she went placidly, leaning heavily into her shoulder. Sharon made a small, contented noise and burrowed deeper into Natasha’s side. 

The redhead exhaled sharply--a combination of the injury and the fact that Sharon somehow managed to be the coldest person on planet Earth. Trying to get more comfortable, Natasha tucked Sharon more securely against her side. She ran one hand lightly against the outside of Sharon’s jacket, hoping that that would generate more warmth. It seemed to work; Natasha didn’t feel like she was about to shiver out of her skin anymore. 

Slowly, the sound of the jet engines became the only noise in the room. Natasha tilted her head to rest against the bulkhead, sighing softly. Rest for her was elusive, but at least her team was here. At least Sharon was taken care of. 

Something shifted then. A wiggle. 

Natasha looked downward to see Sharon, sleepy and struggling to keep her eyes open. Natasha squeezed her arm. “Go to sleep,” she whispered. 

“I can’t.” If Natasha was being generous, she wouldn’t have called it a whine. It was, though. 

“Just close your eyes. Think happy thoughts.”

“That’s flying with pixie dust, not sleeping.”

“Count sheep then.” 

A huff from Sharon then, followed by another wiggle. “I can’t sleep unless I’m laying down.”

“Oh, is that what it is?”

Sharon looked indignant. “Yes. It is. Stop teasing me.”

Natasha pulled her arm away from Sharon and raised her hands in a placating manner. “Wasn’t trying to. Look,” she sighed, “you’re not getting any sleep this way and you weren’t getting any sleep trying to stay upright. What do you suggest we do?”

Sharon went quiet for a minute, her eyebrows pulled together in what Natasha silently called her thinking face. It was cute. Not that Natasha wouldn’t admit that to anybody in her lifetime, however. 

She pulled away from Natasha and began to stretch out across the vinyl bench seat. Before laying down fully, however, she looked hopefully up at Natasha. “Can I? Can’t sleep without a pillow either.” Her voice quieted down at the end of the sentence. 

Natasha managed not to look entirely like her heart was about to beat out of her chest. “I’m your pillow now?” The question was slightly higher-pitched than Natasha wanted it to be. 

Sharon nodded sleepily, pillowing her head on the other woman’s thigh. Her eyes were already closed. “You’re comfy.”

A light blush creeped onto Natasha’s face. She didn’t dare breathe. Slowly, she brought her hand up to Sharon’s hair, brushing a thumb gently up against her hairline. 

There was something about this simplicity, of sitting here in the quiet and knowing that everything was okay for now. Sharon let out a huff of air, nuzzling further into Natasha’s thigh while fast asleep. Natasha ran her fingers over the other woman’s forehead, down the low slope of her nose and across the swell of her cheek. A feeling of protectiveness ran over her. 

“Сладких снов.” She whispered in Russian. “Sleep well.” Maybe she could be that type of comfort that Sharon deserved after all.

-

In the days that followed, Natasha felt almost hopeful. A lightness clung to her, foreign and unknown.

She could be so much more, for Sharon. She wanted that. Sharon didn’t shy away from her; instead, she had wanted to get closer. Natasha called it a fucking miracle.

She could be more. Natasha could. She just had to try. 

The next day, she slid into the spot beside Sharon in the cafeteria, offering up a half of an orange to the other woman. 

The blonde quickly smiled at her and took it before turning back to her work. She seemed tense. 

A small frown started to edge its way onto Natasha’s face. Sharon was working awfully hard these past few days. It worried the redhead. Natasha bumped shoulders with the other woman, making Sharon look up. 

“Hm?” Sharon questioned. Natasha cocked her head to the side, finally able to see Sharon clearly. The dark circles under her eyes, the tension so clearly set into her shoulders. 

Natasha didn’t know what to say. It was a surprise, her silver-tongue failing her in the moment. Sharon’s eyes darkened a little. 

“Natasha—”

“Are you—”

Both of their sentences collided with each other, leaving both women fumbling for the end of their sentences while trying to be polite. 

Natasha felt an uncomfortable feeling settle over the conversation. She decided to just jump in, asking in a rush, “You look tired.”

“Yeah, sure. That’s exactly what a tired person wants to hear.” The sarcasm wasn’t unwarranted, though Natasha tried to press on to her main point. 

“You should take a break.” 

Sharon hung her hand, letting out a singular laugh; it was more sardonic than anything. Pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes, the blonde groaned. “I can’t.”

“You need—”

Natasha was cut off by Sharon’s voice, still bowed over the table. 

“Stop, Natasha! Okay? You’re just—just always in the way. I need to get this done.”

Natasha froze. Her face prickled with embarrassment, though she was thankful she wasn’t a blusher. The words stung. She didn’t know. Of course. Of course, she would never be right.

“Oh.” Her voice came out small. “I’m just going to leave then.”

It seemed like that was what she was best at, anyway. 

Natasha left, but if she was paying attention, she’d have seen Sharon’s eyes trailing after her, very much aware of the chasm that had opened up between them.

-

“Natasha, please.” Sharon reached out a hand, hovering over Natasha’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean—”

The redhead turned away, twisting herself away from any sort of bodily contact. 

“It’s okay, Sharon. I get it. You’ve made yourself perfectly clear.”

Natasha had been having trouble identifying the feelings that came up after that day with Sharon. Shame, for one. But also a tinge of sadness. 

Since yesterday, Sharon had already tried to seek out Natasha multiple times.  
The redhead had hid, unable to face rejection yet again. If Sharon thought she was in the way, then she’d make herself just _not_ be. 

The plan had worked, right up until Sharon had found her. And now they were here. Standing in a deserted hallway. 

“Will you look at me?” the blonde asked.

Natasha turned around, staring at the wall behind Sharon—partly because if she looked at the other woman, she’d want to run again.

“Natasha, please look at me.”

Almost sullenly, Natasha pulled her gaze back to Sharon. The other woman looked stiff. 

At least it was heartening that both of them didn’t want to be there. 

“Natasha, you know I didn’t mean it, okay? You know—”

“It’s okay, Sharon. You made yourself really clear. I’m _in the way_. Obviously—”

“Natasha!”

Both women truly looked at each other, then, for the first time since they had started this conversation. Sharon’s eyes were clouded, an obvious sign of tiredness that mirrored itself in Natasha. 

Natasha stretched out a hand, as if it could put a barrier between her and the blonde. “Look, Sharon, I have to go, okay? I have to go.”

Sharon’s tone was frustrated. “Will you just—”

“I have to go.” Natasha turned to walk away. 

“Fine, then! Go ahead. Walk away. Like you always do.” Sharon’s voice rose. 

Natasha turned back. 

“You are so _selfish_ , Natasha Romanov. You are. God, I have been trying to apologize, but you won’t let me!” Sharon’s eyes started to water. “You keep yourself behind a wall and _god forbid_ anything or anyone tries to look behind it. I am here, don’t you see that?”

Natasha was frozen. She didn’t expect this to happen, not when so many things in her life had been taken away. She blinked, words caught in her throat. 

Sharon continued. “I have tried _everything_ , but you think I won’t understand. Am I a child to you? Do you disrespect me that much? I _care_ for you, don’t you get it?”

A sigh. Sharon wiped furiously under her eyes. “But you know what, Nat? I’m done. I’m done trying.”

And with that, she walked away.


	4. CHAPTER THREE

They hadn’t talked. The tension between them was thick and almost tangible to everyone. 

Moments had passed where Natasha wanted to reach out, only to feel the hurt rise up in her chest again. Sharon looked equally contrite, more than once pausing in the middle of the hallway with Natasha only to quickly pass her seconds later. 

It hurt. Viscerally. But Natasha was nothing if not professional, especially when it came to keeping her emotions close to her chest. It was just a mission. Sharon was just an agent. 

_Liar_ , something inside her said viciously. _She’s something more. You’ve sabotaged yourself._

Natasha had taken to pinching herself in those moments, trying to shake herself out of her own thoughts. So far, it didn’t seem to be working. The tendency for Natasha to draw back became more prominent, with Clint sitting her down and trying to talk to her. Even with all her closest confidant’s cajoling, Natasha had stayed silent. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter. 

If Natasha truly believed truth was a matter of circumstance, then why couldn’t she make herself believe something else? 

The fact remained: they didn’t talk. And for the seconds like these, where Natasha couldn’t look away, she was forced to think about how they ended up here. 

Her eyes tracked over Sharon, the way that light caught against the planes of her face, highlighting the warm brown undertones of her skin and dark brown eyes.

It felt wrong that there was no mirth between them, the slight smile that Sharon gave Natasha before missions, as if to reassure the redhead everything would be fine. Natasha wanted that back. She wanted everything to go back to the way it was, before longing gave way to bad decisions and impromptu declarations. 

Sharon caught Natasha’s look. Shame crept up on Natasha’s neck, marking itself red. They both averted their eyes. 

“Romanoff! Carter! Eyes front.” 

Natasha snapped up, attention now directed at the agent talking. “Yes ma’am.” 

Agent May kept talking, widening her stance and reaching up to brace herself against the top of the car as the truck dipped into a pothole. She continued, “We don’t have time for whatever animosity games you two are playing right now. Keep your heads on straight.”

A second, subdued “yes, ma’am” came from both Sharon and Natasha. 

The truck stopped, making everyone lurch forward a bit. May pounded the cab, then gave a sweeping glance to the current team. “Okay. I want Daniels, Chakraborty, Valdez, and Listmore to flank the sides of the warehouse. Do not let anyone out. Carter, I want you and your team to direct your efforts from the front. Neutralize any threats.”

May stared at her. “Romanoff, you’re with me for extraction.”

Each person started filing out, ready to assume position. Natasha silently watched as Sharon jumped off the back, wishing that she could go with her. 

She looked to May for direction, quickly following the older woman into the building. Bursts of static filled her left ear as everyone affirmed contact. The redhead could hear Sharon’s faint voice talking to someone else. 

“Eyes front, Natasha,” May said. Natasha whipped her head around. May looked back at her, eyes gentle and seemingly more understanding of the situation than Natasha thought anyone had been. “No time for distractions now.”

“Понятно. Of course.” 

The change in Natasha was perceptible, almost like lightning. The slight tense of her body, ready to recoil at a moment’s notice. Not fear. Not apprehension. But a sense of danger, coiled around her limbs. This is what they meant when they called her what she was, what she became under the Red Room’s thumb. 

Both agents moved fast, using measured sweeps to clear the area. Natasha listened to the succinct confirmations of empty rooms and light footfall. 

They slipped into the main control room, lights flickering as May started to manipulate the server. 

Something about this felt wrong. Too easy. The hair on the nape of Natasha’s neck stood up a bit, though she showed no other signs of discomfort otherwise. She glanced at May, but the other agent didn’t seem to feel the same qualms that she did, fast at work pulling files and securing them on a hard drive. 

Natasha cocked her head. No noise. No noise at all. 

One second passed. 

Then two. 

Natasha took a slow breath, steadying herself. May stopped typing. 

The senior agent started, “I think—”

The control room door slammed open, revealing a broad-shouldered person decked out in tactical gear. Several different holsters and knives adorned the soldier, allowing them access to a variety of weapons. Natasha slowed, just for a second, evaluating. 

The other soldier flexed their hands, white knuckles and stance widening. One shoulder drawn back, ready to put force behind a flurry of punches. 

Natasha moved. Leaned back as the soldier surged forward. Her teachers had always taught her that a fight was a dance, but it had never been more apparent in this moment. She brought both hands up to block the punch, grasping his forearm and ducking under it to pull the weight against them. The soldier stumbled forward, tugging at Natasha’s grip. 

The redhead pinned their wrist against their back, all the while trying to secure the soldier’s other flailing arm. They grunted with effort, kicking their head back in an effort to headbutt Natasha. Natasha spun. 

A scream echoed throughout the hallway. Natasha lost her focus, searching for the sound. _Sharon_ , she thought desperately. 

The distraction was enough that Natasha’s grip weakened, allowing the soldier to get leverage. They hooked their foot behind Natasha’s ankle, pulling it so she was off-balance. She stepped back and they twisted around, grabbing onto the end of her ponytail where it had become untucked from under her collar. They braced a forearm against Natasha’s carotid, cutting off her air. 

Natasha gasped, prying at the arm in an attempt to stop them. Through bleary eyes, she saw May come up behind the soldier, delivering a series of rapid blows to their body. 

The soldier fell away, turning towards the current threat and allowing Natasha to stumble back. Natasha gulped an inhale, putting one hand to the back of her head to soothe the pain, and turned to go through the doorway. 

_Sharon. She had to get to Sharon._

Natasha shook her head, still coughing. Now was not the time to think about how her body hurt. She assessed the pain—throat, head—and then straightened upward. 

She moved. Down the hallway, then a turn right, ears trained to pick up any sound. The scream was so close. It made Natasha’s blood run cold. 

Strained noises came from a room feet from where Natasha was. The redhead broke into a run, rounding into the room. All her breath left her. 

Sharon on the floor, one hand haphazardly laying on the ground. Another member of her team thrown up against the wall. A soldier bearing down on Sharon, body covering hers and a knife nicking her throat. 

Natasha saw red. “Don’t touch her!” 

She rushed forward, drawing her batons from their holsters. The soldier didn’t stop, still covering Sharon. 

Natasha hooked the baton beneath the soldier’s chin, pulling upwards as hard as she could. The soldier grunted, the knife-holding hand scraping along the side of Sharon’s neck, eliciting a cry from her. 

Natasha flinched inwardly, but kept trying to pull the soldier away from the other agent. As the soldier stumbled backwards, she leapt up, using her body to climb his and squeeze the baton in the crook of her elbows, creating more force. 

The soldier bucked backwards, trying to shake Natasha off. She wrapped her legs around his waist. She huffed, struggling to activate her widow bites. 

One second. 

Two seconds. 

She reached far enough to touch the trigger and watched as voltage surged within each coil. Pressing the bite up against the soldier’s neck, she waited long seconds as he convulsed with each volt of electricity and stumbled forward. He was clearly losing control of his body, knees hitting the floor first.

Natasha scrambled off of him, turning her widows bites off and leaving the batons behind. She dropped herself next to the blonde. Sharon was struggling to get off of the floor with one arm. Blood dripped down onto the collar of her suit, staining it crimson. 

“Sharon?” Natasha asked, bringing her hands up to cup the other woman’s face. “Sharon, любимая мой, please talk to me. Are you okay?” She brushed a thumb gently over the blonde’s cheekbone, cataloguing the different scrapes Sharon bore. 

Sharon was cradling her arm next to her body, wincing at any movement. Natasha dragged her hands down to Sharon’s shoulders, drawing her close while being mindful of her open wound and injuries. Tears, something entirely foreign to the redhead, threatened to appear. “I know, I know. My hands, they’re so bloody. But I’ll protect you. I’ll protect you.”

Sharon inhaled sharply. Tucking her head into Natasha’s shoulder, she rasped, “Okay.”

-

It was a slow process, helping Sharon to her feet and then to the truck. By the time that both of them arrived, May and the rest of the team had loaded the unconscious agent into the back and already climbed in. The idling of the truck reminded Natasha of the last time she had been on a mission with Sharon; this seemed so familiar but so different.

May gave both of them a look, both questioning and full of reprimand. Natasha looked away, unwilling in this moment to have to defend her actions.

She heard the senior agent ask if Sharon was alright and then Sharon’s quiet response. Natasha reached underneath the bench and pulled out the first aid kit, grabbing gauze and a splint. She shifted closer to Sharon, kneeling on the floor, and gently clasping her arm between her palms; looking up, she searched Sharon’s face for affirmation. 

“Okay?”

Sharon nodded. 

Natasha was gentle, as in all things regarding Sharon, drawing the blonde’s arm carefully away from where it was tucked against her body. The redhead wrapped the gauze slowly but surely around her wrist, making sure it wasn’t too tight. 

She took the splint and laid it straight up against Sharon’s wrist, tying the ends to Sharon’s fingers and again around her forearm. 

The redhead looked up again at Sharon, asking, “Is it good?”

“It hurts. But at least it’s secure. Just got to keep from moving.”

Natasha sagged. She looked over at May, ignoring the shame that grew inside her as she saw the senior agent. “How far are we from the medbay?”

May gave her a hard stare before replying, “15 minutes.”

It was longer than Natasha would have liked. She climbed back up next to Sharon, gesturing for Sharon to lean up against her. 

Gingerly, Sharon did, seeking out the same warmth that she found on the jet the last mission that they had together. 

Natasha put her hand out for Sharon to take. The blonde laced her fingers with Sharon’s, and Natasha dragged her thumb across the other woman’s skin. 

Sharon inhaled sharply and Natasha drew away. “Hurts?” 

Shaking her head slightly, Sharon replied, “Just unused to this.”

Natasha huffed out a laugh, pressing her lips into the blonde’s braids. She peeked at the rest of the truck, still conscious. Everybody else was looking forward, all except May. 

They locked eyes once more before May turned away. Natasha returned her attention back to Sharon, voice low. 

“We’re going to go to the medbay and then straight home, okay?” 

Sharon nodded, again pressing her face into the crook of Natasha’s shoulder. 

Those were the last words they both said before climbing out of the van to go into the medbay and then back to their apartment floor, cleared by the doctor to go home. 

Natasha was adamant that they take it slow, Sharon sagging a bit in exhaustion. 

“I know,” she whispered. “Just a few more minutes.”

Natasha fumbled with the key Sharon kept by the planter, finally letting both of them into Sharon’s apartment. It looked like it did when the redhead was last there. 

Sharon hummed. “I’m tired, Nat.”

“I hear you. We’re almost there.”

They walked in tandem down the hallway and into the first room on the left. Natasha deposited Sharon on the bed. The blonde slouched, unbroken hand slowly drifting over the comforter. Being tactile with something must have good at the moment. 

Natasha leaned forward, bracing herself against Sharon’s knee as she slid one boot off after another. 

Sharon hummed again, the opening bars of Firework barely recognizable. She faltered, eyes staying closed for longer and longer each time. 

Natasha gave a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes. It reminded her of the last mission they had done together—back when everything was different. 

The redhead started to sing under her breath—a lullaby she remembered in her early days of the Red Room. 

Sharon swayed once more. 

Natasha kept singing, even after she backed away to retrieve a warm towel and sat back down in front of Sharon. “Come here, любимая, we’ll take it easy.”

She drew Sharon’s non-injured hand towards her. A slow sweep from the top of the blonde’s shoulder down to her wrist and over to the other arm, picking up the few places where the doctors hadn’t fully wiped away the blood. 

Natasha felt a deep rage over what had happened, what she had allowed to happen on her watch. It shouldn’t have come to this, with Sharon _hurt._

The thought both bolstered and scared the redhead. It wasn’t that Natasha was Sharon’s keeper, but that she wanted to protect her. To be there, by her side, and be able to love her the way Sharon deserved to be loved. And that, to Natasha, was new. 

Sharon’s hand gripped Natasha’s forearm, shocking her out of her thoughts. 

“What does it mean, любимая мой?” 

Natasha stilled. Contemplated. “Go to sleep, Sharon. It’s okay. You’re safe.”

It wasn’t time yet, anyway.


	5. CHAPTER FOUR/FIN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!

Sharon woke slowly, the light from her salt lamp no longer needed with the sunlight on her face. She didn’t remember getting into her apartment. Belatedly, her hand flew up to her head, sighing as she realized her bonnet still protected her hair. 

Sounds started making their way into her bedroom; the slight whirr of her coffee maker was enough to get her out of bed. 

The sight in her kitchen made her stop dead in her tracks. Natasha, hair up in a bun and tongue slightly poking out in concentration, using a spatula to flip omelets. 

“Did you,” Sharon’s voice was scratchy, “Did you do all this?”

Natasha jumped, turning around to face the blonde. “Hi! Good morning. I’m—can we—look, can we talk?”

The redhead’s voice was surprisingly timid. She looked uncertain for the first time that Sharon had met her. 

“I mean, sure?” Sharon drew out of her gaze enough to walk forward and sit at the table.

Natasha used her free hand to wipe at her brow, but it just ended up making more stray hairs stick to her face. 

“I just wanted to say you were right. Sharon, you were right and I’m sorry.”

Sharon paused, one hand lifting the fork to her mouth. “Oh?”

Natasha let out a breath, closing her eyes for a minute. The instinct to run, and run far, coursed through her. But she was tired. She wanted--she didn’t know how to say what she wanted. “My name is Natalia Alianova Romanova. But I am also Natasha Romanoff. And Sharon, I have done terrible things.”

The food had been completely forgotten by now. Sharon stared, wide-eyed, unsure of how much Natasha was giving herself over. Any attempt at connection before was met with frigidity, but the look in the redhead’s eyes convinced Sharon that she was serious. The blonde dragged her eyes over Sharon; the closed eyes, the low slope of her nose, shoulders tense. 

“Natasha,” Sharon hedged, “you don’t need—”

“No. I do. You once asked me about my name. And then when I pushed you away, you almost didn’t come back.”

The redhead looked away then, hands clenching around the edge of the granite countertop.

“My hands are bloody, Sharon. They carry with them so many things, and _still_ , they aren’t clean. I don’t think they ever will be.” Natasha gripped the counter again, jaw clenching tightly. 

“Have you ever experienced that? The first time I killed someone, I couldn’t get to water fast enough. And even then, the blood was so caked on it took several hours for it to be clear again.

How do I tell you what I’ve done? Without pushing you away? Without you thinking I’m a monster?”

Natasha ducked her head, unwilling for Sharon to see the tears. She wasn’t supposed to be this way—soft, open, and yielding. 

She was weak. 

Sharon’s hand covered hers, shocking the redhead. Natasha stared at their hands. 

“Hey.” Sharon whispered. 

Natasha lifted her eyes just enough to catch the blonde’s expression. Her lips were bitten bloody. “I didn’t mean it, Sharon. I didn’t—and there’s so much I _can’t._ And you’ll leave—”

“Hey.” Sharon repeated, making sure that Natasha’s attention was on her before continuing. “Nat, we’ve got time.”

-

So time passed. They grew back closer over too much coffee and late nights when either Natasha or Sharon had dragged themselves back to sleep at their apartments a little bit more bloody than when they first left.

It was only a matter of time before something more happened. Natasha didn’t know how to react to the subtle closeness between the two of them. But Natasha never expected it to happen like this. 

See, the fifth time Natasha had stumbled her way up the three stories to outside her apartment, she found Sharon sitting on the floor. 

“What—,” Natasha tried to get out before Sharon had scrambled to her feet and looked Natasha over from head to toe.

Natasha could tell Sharon lingered on multiple cuts around her face. The redhead shifted, tugging her collar away from her neck. It felt too hot. 

Sharon smiled softly. “I waited for you.” 

She stepped forward towards Natasha. 

Natasha stood frozen, unsure and hesitant and also wanting to lean into Sharon’s warmth. How foreign this was to her, to actively want to be held in another person’s arms. Natasha craved it more than she could tell. 

Before Natasha could say anything, however, Sharon lifted one hand to brush a stray hair away from Natasha’s face. “I wanted to make sure you got home safe. In one piece. But it looks like I was wrong.”

Natasha managed to stutter out, “It’s nothing. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

The words made her wince as the dried cuts tugged at sensitive skin. All she wanted to do was sleep. Natasha blinked rapidly, trying to make sure she stayed awake long enough to be here, to be in this moment. 

She looked at Sharon. Sharon looked back at her.

A moment of silence passed before Natasha said sullenly, “Maybe I’m not that fine.”

Warmth spread across Natasha’s cheeks as Sharon’s brown eyes crinkled in amusement. 

“Then let me help, okay?” asked Sharon. She clasped Natasha’s hand in hers, leading her into Sharon’s apartment.

Natasha could feel every part of her body; it was like she’d been electrified from the inside, each nerve ending lit in lightning. She swallowed roughly, unsure about what to do. Slowly, Natasha started uncurling her fingers from Sharon’s, trying to stop in the middle of the living room. 

She didn’t—well, this was new, it was unfamiliar, it was comfort in a way that she didn’t know how to process. 

But as Natasha tried to pull away, Sharon clung tighter. The blonde turned around, pinning Natasha with a disapproving look. It didn’t last long, but Sharon wanted Natasha to stop pulling away and take something, anything for herself. 

“It’s okay, Nat. Ma moitié. I’m here, we’re right here, remember? It’s okay. You’re allowed to have this.” Sharon tilted her face upwards to look at Natasha, her other hand coming to twist in the other woman’s leather jacket. “J'ai su que je t’aimais dès le premier regard, ma chérie.”

Natasha shook her head, unaware of what Sharon was saying. 

“I’m sorry,” Natasha said, her voice cracking, “I’m sorry.” She brushed her thumb against Sharon’s knuckles. All Natasha wanted to do was smooth away the tension—it was an act of desperation and holiness all wrapped up in one. “I don’t deserve to have this.”

Sharon leaned forward, resting her head against Natasha’s shoulder. Her voice had a rough tinge to it. “I want you to stop running. I’m here. I’m here, okay?”

Sharon tucked her face into the curve of Natasha’s neck, closing her eyes for a minute. She breathed in heavily, trying to keep a closeness between her and the other woman.

Natasha hesitantly cradled the back of Sharon’s head. She was so tired, wasn’t she? What would she give to rest? At that moment, it was anything. 

A whisper from Sharon. “Stop running from me.”

Sharon drew back. Her lips parted, as if she wanted to ask a question. The look she gave Natasha was quiet, almost reverent—as if she wanted to catalogue the other woman’s face into her memory. 

“Can I—” Sharon couldn’t get out the full sentence before Natasha had nodded. 

It felt like sacrilege to feel these things, all unholy and holy at the same time. Natasha felt like she was vibrating. She was scared. 

Sharon cupped Natasha’s face with one hand. The other woman instinctively leaned into it, closing her eyes. The room was silent—the only sound between the two of them a subtle hitch in Natasha’s breath.

There was a hesitation on Sharon’s part—subtle, almost unseen, and ultimately a decision. All this time that she had been with Natasha, she had seen what Natasha kept from herself. What she could see now was a person who wasn’t quite there. And here, now, was the same woman in her arms—trembling. 

So leaning forward, Sharon gently pressed a kiss to Natasha’s temple. She lingered for a second or two. “Only when you’re really ready, sweetheart.”

Sharon pulled back as Natasha blinked. 

The redhead gasped, all breath leaving her body. Natasha had never been given a choice like this before. And she wanted this—she did. To touch another person without worrying about the consequences. It just felt too foreign. And to allow herself to love? Even more so. 

Natasha was weak. She pressed an ear against Sharon’s chest, listening for the dull thud of her heartbeat. 

It was rhythmic. Steady. “Okay,” Natasha whispered. “Okay. Can we just be like this, then? Just for a moment.”

Sharon inhaled, and Natasha went with her. They stayed there, quiet and unyielding, just together. And Natasha felt like she could breathe, if only for a moment.

But Natasha was drowsy, swaying slightly, eyes drifting closed for longer and longer intervals of time.

Sharon felt the other woman’s body bow inwards, understanding it for what it was—trust. Something that the redhead didn’t easily give. Secrecy that even Sharon herself had lamented until those short weeks ago. 

To be trusted with something as intimate as this, Natasha’s guard down—it was rare. 

Natasha’s breathing started to slow. Sharon ran her fingers through Natasha’s hair, the auburn strands like silk, and whispered about going to bed. 

The redhead shook her head, hands clutching at Sharon’s shoulders just a little bit tighter. Her words were muffled as she replied, “Just a moment. You said.” 

Sharon laughed. “Oh, ma moitié, you can stay as long as you’d like. Do you want to?”

Incoherent mumbling came from the other woman, but Natasha started walking backward, pulling both of them towards the hallway. 

Despite Sharon’s fears that they would bump into something, Natasha led without fear. “Careful,” she reminded the redhead. 

Natasha turned around, eyes still heavy with wanted sleep. “I’m always careful with you. Aren’t I?”

Sharon paused. Looked at Natasha’s earnest expression.

“Tu as raison, ma moitié, tu as raison. Tu es très prudente avec moi.”

Natasha buried her face in Sharon’s shoulder once again. “No French, don’t know French.”

The blonde ducked her head, nodding as she said, “Okay, no French.” 

Sharon reached out to open her bedroom door, shepherding the redhead inside. Natasha dropped hard onto the comforter, already tossing her shoes away. 

While Natasha curled up in the corner of the bed, Sharon went to grab her silk wrap, swiftly tying it around her hair. She’d already decided she would be sleeping in the guest room tonight. 

Yet, as Sharon passed by Natasha, the other woman reached out, gently grabbing the blonde’s wrist. 

Sharon looked down at Natasha, hair already mussed and cheek pressed into the pillow. 

“Will you stay?”

And oh—oh, Sharon would. The blonde nodded, pulling back the covers. Natasha shifted closer to her, hands searching for Sharon’s. 

The whisper that followed was soft; Sharon wouldn’t have caught it otherwise. “Love you.”

All of Sharon’s breath left her. She turned to face Natasha, brushing stray strands of hair away from her face. “Love you too.”

-

“What does it mean, любимая мой?” Sharon asked, carding through Natasha’s hair the next morning.

Waking up had been a pleasant surprise; Sharon had been looking at her. With understanding. With hope. 

Natasha looked up at the blonde then, surprise playing out over her face. She hadn’t expected Sharon to bring up the Russian again, vividly remembering the last time she dismissed it as a heat of the moment thing. 

Sharon gazed back, brown eyes warm and gentle. It made her look soft in the morning light. Natasha instinctively wanted to shy away, but last night’s “you’re allowed to have this” echoed through her thoughts. 

“It means beloved.”

“Oh.” Sharon’s voice was quiet. Natasha fixed her gaze on the wall opposite them, her breath caught in her chest. A slight panic was welling up inside her. It was a mistake. _It was a mistake._ It was one thing to say “I love you” when you were half-asleep, but quite another to admit it in the daylight.

“Ma moitié means my other half.”

Natasha whipped back to stare at Sharon. “Oh.”

The redhead watched as a smile broke out on Sharon’s face, the blonde tipping her head back to bask in the morning sun streaming through the window. When she looked back down at Natasha, the smile hadn’t left. “Ma moitié. Come eat breakfast with me.”

They both clambered off the bed, Natasha following Sharon. She was deeply reminded of the last time she was in the blonde’s kitchen. 

“Do you remember this?” Sharon asked as she pulled a mango from the fruit bowl. “I wanted you to eat well.”

Natasha moved closer to Sharon, their bodies side by side. 

The blonde drew a knife from the drawer. “You taught me how to do this that day. I’d never thought of porcupining before. What an odd concept.”

By this time, Sharon had sliced through the mango, creating perpendicular cuts across the fruit before popping it upwards. “Like this.”

Natasha was rapturous, fixed on Sharon’s face. Her eyes tracked the blonde’s hands. Watched. 

Watched as Sharon took a bite. Watched as Sharon watched her. 

Natasha leaned forward. “You have something there.” She placed her hand on Sharon’s cheek, thumb close to where juice had collected at the corner of Sharon’s mouth. 

Sharon breathed out. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Natasha drew closer. “I’m ready.”

If she was brave enough to say that she loved Sharon, she was brave enough to do this. 

Tilting her face upwards, Natasha pressed her lips against Sharon’s. She could taste the mango. 

Natasha closed her eyes, falling into the moment as Sharon finally brought her hands up to cup Natasha’s face, drawing her into a deeper kiss.

After what seemed like a lifetime, Sharon drew back. Natasha blinked, slightly dazed. 

The redhead smiled. “Hi.”

Sharon laughed, dimples once again showing. “Hi yourself.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!


End file.
